What I will be when I grow up

There are times, I'm sure, when parents get a glimpse into the future of their little ones. Perhaps it is a false glimpse or, perhaps, it is a glimpse that will be long forgotten until that moment in his childhood is realized in adulthood. Tonight I think I saw something in Turner's future. It may never happen. I may be making more out of it than it is. At the very least, I was amazed and was not alone in my awe of him.

I pick Turner up at 2. He is on his mat beside the door. He and Ms. Carolyn share a look. Apparently Turner told her earlier in the day that I would pick him up during nap time. We had not discussed this previously. We come home and we both take a two hour nap. Andy calls and wakes me up 30 minutes before I am forced to rouse Turner to wakefulness. In this time, I prepare a snack and a goody bag to accompany us to the "magician's house." At 5 we rush off to the Anderson's home so I can tutor the magician while Turner plays wii, pinball, and watches PBS on a TV as big as our entire living room. An hour later, we are wandering around in Bookman's (the local, used bookstore that is the size of Barnes & Noble). 

We get to the children's room, which is comfortable with big, cushy chairs, kid-size tables and chairs, huge posters of book covers towering over the endless supply of books. Turner runs into the room and sees, first thing, Shel Silverstein's The Giving Tree that is four feet tall and hanging on the wall. "I have that book. That tree book is just like mine." We nose around the books, Turner honing in on the religious section. He hands me a very large book that has Noah's ark on the front. Inside there are pictures, but only a few. Instead, there are lots and lots of words. Paragraphs of words that create the Biblical story with richness and candor. Turner seats himself on the carpet and starts reading. While he is telling the story, I select stacks of books for him to select from. I locate dinosaur books, one turtle book, a rhyming book (by the same author as my favorite LaLa book), something about Kindergarten, a folklore book, a Native American book, and a book about Africa. After fifteen minutes or so, I look over and Turner is still seated with his "boat" book, but he has an audience (a pregnant woman and another child that is not with the pregnant woman). 

I sit at the table to listen as he tells the most elaborate tale of a "big boat" with "lots of rain" and a "very special man" who "could talk to animals and could make them feel comfortable." These animals followed Noah onto the boat "because they trusted him and his sponsibilities." "There were lots of kinds of animals. Big ones. Little ones. Smart ones. Lions. Cats. Some dogs. Not many." "So, anyway, the animals get on the boat and they are happy. Then they get unhappy. They kind of fight. Not fight fight but the fight like brothers can do sometimes like Noah and his brother who fights sometimes. Nobody hurts nobody. They use words only." And, these fighting animals get impatient with one another and start pushing a bit. "Well, that made the boat rock and rock and the smart man who spoke to the animals said, 'Stop it.' And, well they did." He reads this story to us for another couple of minutes. During this time, a few of the staff members of the store have spread the word and are huddled by the door listening to the master storyteller. He never looks up at any of us: me in the distance, the other child seated in the floor, the workers hiding behind the bookshelves, the pregnant woman holding her stomach and giggling from Turner's left. When Turner decides to finish his story he says, "And then the rains stopped. The animals walked and crawled and jumped off the big boat and..." he looks up. Turns his head around in my direction. I smile. He smiles and looks a bit sheepish. "...and, well, The End." 

He brings me the book. We select the ones he wants to take home (six in all) and I grab the "boat" book. He says, "No Mom. I already read all of that one." 

We purchase his books and play again with the "tick tock clock." We touch the world at the front of the store. As we are readying ourselves to leave, Turner announces he must use the bathroom. The gentleman behind the counter stores all my stuff so I don't have to deal with it in the potty. We return to it and there is a whole counter of workers standing there. They all, in unison, tell him goodbye. He diverts his eyes to the floor and waves at the audience. 

I say, "He's a real storyteller." 

One woman says, "I've never seen anything like that before. How old is he?" 

"Three." 

She laughs. "There is no way. Does he really know how to read?" 

"Were you convinced?" 

"Yes." 

"Well, then that is all that matters I suppose." As I write this I am watching John McCain promise more than he ever intends to deliver (or more than any rational person could ever believe is more than simple rhetorical positioning) and I am ever-aware of Turner's political genes. Perhaps he can't read yet...he is only three. Yet, he knows how to captivate an audience and has mastered the dying art of oral narrative. I only wish I could repeat the entire story verbatim. It really was interesting and well-thought.